Wednesday, September 29, 2004

Thornton Wilder, Our Town, 1938.

I spent the last couple of weeks re-watching My So-Called Life, one of my more favourite tv shows from high school. A story-arc near the end of the series revolved around a production of Our Town, a play that's constantly being referenced, and which I've never seen nor read.

So I grabbed the copy from my shelf that I've been meaning to read for some years now, and read it the other night.

The play feels trite. It's wobbly, and a product of another era that doesn't hold up to the ravages of time. Gee whittakers, we realise that it's important to be fully present at all times. That all moments of life are potentially great (The famous moment, of course, being when Emily asks the Stage Manager "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?--every, every minute?" and he responds, "No. The saints and poets, maybe--they do some."). Treacle, all of it, and hard-pressed to hold anyone's attention.

A Useful Thought about Reading...

"Every reader, as he reads, is actually the reader of himself. The writer's work is only a kind of optical instrument he provides the reader so he can discern what he might never have seen in himself without this book. The reader's recognition in himself of what the book says is the proof of the book's truth."- À la recherche du temps perdu.

Books on the Go

I frequently forget to update this as I move through things. When I do update it, I'm generally in the midst of a book I expect I may spend some time reading.

Beautiful & Pointless

- David Orr

(as of September 20, 2011)

A Vague Disclaimer is Nobody's Friend

My blog entries are my opinions. They are only opinions. Ça c'est tout. My opinions can, and do, change. Sometimes. When I quote, I endeavour to do so accurately. I welcome both email and posted comments with differing opinions.